


Balm

by deedeeinfj



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 07:17:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5239424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deedeeinfj/pseuds/deedeeinfj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the fight. Sequel to Fire_Sign's "Caustic."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Balm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fire_Sign](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/gifts).
  * Inspired by [500 Words: 60. Caustic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5231042) by [Fire_Sign](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/pseuds/Fire_Sign). 



> This is a sequel to Fire_Sign's Caustic, which you definitely have to read first to know what's going on. And what's a day without some heartache and angst? 
> 
> Written with permission - and I hope she likes it, even though it's probably nothing like the sequel she was thinking about writing - and which I hope she will still write!

_Let other pens dwell on guilt and misery. I quit such odious subjects as soon as I can, impatient to restore everybody not greatly in fault themselves to tolerable comfort, and to have done with all the rest._ -Jane Austen

* * *

 

"Sir?"

Jack kept his forehead propped on his fingertips and did not look up from his paperwork. "What is it, Constable?"

In no fit mood for company on this day, he had instructed Collins not to disturb him unless his involvement was absolutely necessary. The quiet had lasted - he glanced at the time - not more than an hour.

"I'm sorry, sir, but Miss Fisher insisted..."

"Thank you, Hugh," interrupted the lady in question in her trademark "blithe but firm" tone. She swept into Jack's office on a wave of perfume and a swish of fabric and feathers and settled herself in the chair across from his desk.

Jack set down his fountain pen with deliberate care, clasped his hands together, and raised his head. He fixed his eyes on Collins instead of Phryne.

"Sir," said Collins, looking timid and bemused, "shall I... er...?"

"That will be all," Jack replied. "Please shut the door."

Once he was alone with Phryne, heavy silence stretched between them. Jack, for his part, set his jaw and waited. He had nothing to say to her. No, that wasn't right. He had too much to say to her, this woman who held his heart in her hands. What was left of it, at any rate, after last night.

"I have a case, Inspector," she said.

"Stolen handkerchief?"

"A bit more serious than that. I need your help."

Jack sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Go on."

"It took place last night at 221B The Esplanade."

"Miss Fisher," he said, and his voice almost broke on the name. He paused. Swallowed. "This is neither the time nor the place. I have work to do."

"Self-defense," she interjected.

He frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

"The perpetrator, I think, acted in self-defense. A misplaced calculation, but I believe it would stand up in court."

"It might be better to start by telling me what the crime was," he said. His curiosity had trumped his sense of self-preservation. Looking back over the past year, he wondered if he had any sense of self-preservation left to consider at all.

"A vicious assault."

"Not a murder, then? The victim will recover?"

"Yes. He has mettle."

"You would know about mettle," Jack said, unable to help himself. "And the attacker, you say, acted in self-defense. Perhaps you could explain."

"She - it was a woman, Inspector - was afraid. Fear... fear is always powerful and rarely rational. Sometimes it is only a perceived threat that can undo a person."

"A threat?"

"No, that isn't the word for this case. She felt herself to be in danger."

"I see. And this was due to an action or statement made by the victim?"

Phryne shook her head. "No." Her eyes were soft - pleading? "Never at any time."

"Is it possible," he said slowly, "that the victim used words that, while not frightening in themselves, caused fear in her? And that... he knew this? Should have known it. Should never have..."

"Jack." Phryne flew from her chair, rounded the desk, and pulled his head to her breast. "My darling Jack."

He closed his eyes and felt the silk of her blouse against his cheek, the gentle strokes of her fingers in the short hair above his ear and on the nape of his neck. He felt the thump of her heart.

"I hurt you," she murmured. "I hurt you, and I can't even say that I didn't mean it." He stiffened against her, and she continued in a rush, "Not the words. I didn't mean the terrible things I said. But I did mean to hurt you. I'm so sorry, Jack."

"I said terrible things, too." He slid his arms around her waist and tilted his head to look up at her. Gaze locked on hers, he reached up and nudged the airy material of her scarf away from her neck to reveal the marks he had left the night before.

"Jack," she whispered.

Still holding her, he stood and bent his head to leave soft kisses on the bruises. They were made in love, in passion, at her request and for her pleasure, but given what came after, they now seemed like a physical manifestation of something ugly.

"You know I don't want to own you. Not any part of you." He hesitated. "Don't you?"

"Yes, I know. If I didn't know it so absolutely, I couldn't love you as much as I do," she said. She reached between them and drew a piece of paper from her blouse. He recognized it immediately and frowned. "I amended this after you left," she said, pressing it into his hand. "Read it."

He did: " _I, Phryne Fisher, do freely confess that care of my mind, body, and heart has been entrusted to Jack Robinson in equal partnership_."

She curled her fingers over his. "This is real, Jack. As real as any other piece of paper could be."

A letter. A certificate of marriage. Paper.

"Why did you come so early in the morning?" he asked. He smiled at her puzzled expression and leaned in close, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "I have to stay here at work for the rest of the day and try to think of anything but making love to you."

"You have an hour for lunch," she sighed.

He felt the side of her neck pulsing under his thumb, and he stroked the spot.

A knock on the door interrupted them, and they stepped back, eyes still on each other.

"Come in, Constable," Jack said.

"Sir, a body is reported at..."

Jack reached for his hat. "Tell me on the way, Collins. Care to join us, Miss Fisher?"

"You helped me with my case, so I suppose it's only fair." She grabbed his hand and squeezed it as they followed Collins out the door. "Equal partnership and all that."


End file.
